Four Things to Laugh About
by afterthree
Summary: Men show their characters in nothing more clearly than in what they think laughable.


Title: Four Things To Laugh About

Author: afterthree

Rating: PG-ish I suppose.

Summary: Men show their characters in nothing more clearly than in what they think laughable.

Author's Note: Written for 's 2008 fic exchange.

:: :: ::

1.

"Bloody _hell_," swore Sirius.

A curse blasted through a tree a few yards away, causing it to disintegrate into a shower of twisted, half-burning branches. James and Sirius covered their heads, crouching down even further behind the low stone wall they'd taken cover behind.

"I think," hissed James, hastily shaking leaf-shaped embers from his robes before they could do any serious damage, "that we've pissed Lord Voldemold off good and proper this time."

"As opposed to all the other times, when we've only just annoyed him a little," said Sirius. He twisted around to peek over the edge of the wall, then ducked down quickly again to avoid another curse. Just in the nick of time; this one took a chunk of the wall with it, leaving a sizable and smoking hole in the stonework between their heads.

"I think every single Death Eater he owns the soul of is out there right now." James wiped the sweat from his eyes, breathing heavily. "Makes a bloke feel right important, having this many people out for his blood."

"Remind me to send a thank-you card later," Sirius grunted, hunkering down as far as he could. "Still," he said with a grin. "All things considered, the look on his face when I called him Voldemold was well worth dying for, don't you think?"

James snorted. "Says the man without a baby on the way. It's a good thing we've got no hope of surviving this, because if we do, Lily's going to slaughter me for it anyway."

A shout, followed by three more streaks of green light and shattering stone a little too close for comfort. Sirius chanced another look over the wall. "They're getting closer," he muttered. Another stone explosion, this one obliterating the wall immediately to his left. "And their aim's improving," he added, choosing not to think about how many more curses the wall could take before it fell apart and left them completely exposed.

"If we can make it to those woods, we could probably transform, make a run for it," James said, nodding toward the small grove of trees a few hundred yards ahead. "This lot might be too busy shooting curses at us to notice a couple of animals scarpering."

"Could do," agreed Sirius. "What d'you suppose the odds of us actually making it to the tree line alive are?"

James' answer was drowned out by the sound of the wall immediately to his right exploding, but it'd been a mostly rhetorical question anyway, with the obvious answer of not very fucking good.

"On three?" Sirius suggested, grinning grimly, and gripped his wand tightly.

James nodded. "One..."

"Two..."

"THREE!"

They vaulted upright just as the last of their cover was blown to bits; almost immediately, the darkness around them was filled with light and heat and noise. Later, the only thing James would properly remember about the rest of the night was the sound of Sirius Black laughing in defiance as they ran for their lives, ducking Killing Curses the whole way.

2.

"Oi! Witlow, what are you doing out of bed at this—" James stopped short as he caught a proper look at first-year Gryffindor Edgar Witlow, and it was all he could do to stifle the impulse to laugh. The boy squeaked, turning instantly pink-faced at being discovered, which, given the circumstances, really only made things all that much worse.

"This why you missed dinner?" James asked.

The boy wailed and buried his head in his hands. "Madam Pomfrey said she couldn't do anything and that it would fade on its own." He hiccuped through his fingers. "She said it might take a whole _week_!"

"Ahh," James nodded. A week was a long time for a first year.

"Horrible shame to hide out in the toilet all week, though," James noted thoughtfully. "Not a very Gryffindor thing to do. Plus, I imagine you'll get hungry eventually."

"B-but...but they'll all laugh at me," mumbled Edgar, going that rather unfortunate shade of pink again.

"Oh, _well_. If that's all you're worried about," said James. "We can take care of that easily enough. Us Gryffindors, we're obligated to use situations like this to our advantage." He grinned conspiratorially at the miserable boy in front of him. It was his duty as Head Boy to solve exactly these sorts of problems, after all. Set the example.

"Tell me, Edgar Witlow: have you ever been to the Hogwarts kitchens?"

Things had already progressed quite nicely by the time James made it down to breakfast the next morning.

"Good colour for you, Wormtail," he remarked with a grin, mussing Peter's hair as he sat down next to him at the table. "Not so much for you, Moony," James added, reaching for the sausage. "Makes you look a bit peaky."

"What doesn't make Moony look peaky?" noted Sirius as Peter scowled and smoothed his hair back down.

"It's in the pumpkin juice," said Remus. "Pretty impressive delay on it, too. By the time it started to show and people figured out what caused it, most everyone'd already drunk enough to be affected."

"Brilliantly nasty shade of pink, though," Sirius said with a grin, fingering a piece of his own brightly coloured hair a moment before flicking it carelessly away from his eyes.

"You should have seen Snivellus," crowed Peter. "His greasy mop was one of the first ones to go pink, and he stormed off ages ago."

"Professor McGonagall also looked particularly fetching," added Remus. "I wonder who's behind it?"

"No idea," said James. He looked down toward the other end of the Gryffindor table, where Edgar Witlow sat, looking decidedly happier than he had the night before, his bright pink hair now just another in a sea of the same. James caught the boy's eye, winked, and raised his goblet in silent camaraderie before drinking the lot down in one go.

Edgar grinned from ear to ear, giving James a thumbs-up sign, and fifteen minutes later when his own hair turned the same violent shade of hot pink, James laughed right along with the rest of them.

3.

This was absolutely not at all the way he'd planned the night to go.

What he'd meant to do was end it, once and for all this time. For her own good. He'd promised himself he'd be cruel if he had to, do or say whatever it took to make her see how foolish this was.

Remus most certainly had not intended at any point whatsoever to kiss her like he had done. Or to fumble their way to her bedroom in between handfuls of warm skin and abandoned clothing. He wasn't completely sure, but he thought it entirely possible that shadowy blur of fabric hanging off the lamp in the hallway might be her knickers, and that most of all had definitely _not_ been part of his carefully formulated modus operandi.

Dora shifted lightly on top of him, and for a moment his thoughts were interrupted by the slide of her body and the sound her hair made brushing up against his shoulder as she settled herself against him. Somewhere down there where their hips were still pressed together her finger swirled against his thigh, branding him feather-light with a seemingly endless series of lover's loops and circles.

_Definitely her knickers_, Remus thought. For his part, he was fairly certain his pants were somewhere behind her dresser. Unfortunate, that. Digging them out was going to make for an awkward exit.

As if sensing that thought, Dora shifted again, pulling her leg over his and pressing into him, pinning him firmly in place. Against his better judgment (_par for the course tonight,_ he thought ruefully), Remus permitted his hand to slip from her shoulder to the small of her back.

This had to stop. They couldn't keep going on like this, crashing together and ripping apart; it was madness. Every time he fell against her it was harder and harder to pick himself up again. It was horrible of him, and it was wrong.

"Remus?"

Breath on his chest, and he tensed, waiting for the tearing to start.

"I'm pregnant."

If not for the crack in her voice, he wouldn't have believed her. But it was there, and he knew instantly she was telling him the truth. For a long moment, Remus ceased to exist.

Dora.

Pregnant.

Baby.

_His_ baby.

And in the face of total and complete disaster, the only thing Remus could think to do was laugh.

4.

Peter held his breath.

This was always the worst part, the not knowing. The not being sure. Did he say the right thing? Did it go the right way? Sometimes he hadn't or it didn't, and then everything would shift the wrong way. James would stare and Sirius's nose would wrinkle and Remus would shift awkwardly and try to change the subject.

But when things went the right way, when everything fell into place, it was the brightest warmth Peter had ever known because, just for a few minutes, he really felt as though he belonged. He felt a part of something.

He felt as he imagined James and Sirius and Remus did all the time, and he knew he would do anything—_anything_—to feel like that.

But for now, he waited.

First Sirius cracked a smile, and then James started to snicker. Remus covered his growing grin with a hand. Sirius and James caught each other's eye and started to shake, and Peter could feel the wonderful warmth beginning to glow in his chest. The chuckles became giggles became full on laughter, and joy spread to the tips of Peter's toes.

He had done it! He'd said the right thing in just the right way, done something worthwhile and clever, and he was no longer only just a part of something; he was the very centre of it.

And so, because James and Sirius and Remus were laughing, Peter could, too.


End file.
